In Indian Tents. Abby Langdon Alger
The next to enter the lists was Āgwem, the Loon, whose poohegan was “K’taiūk,” or Cold. Soon the mountain was covered with snow and ice, the cave was filled with cold blasts of wind, frosts split the trees and cracked asunder the huge rocks. The Giant Witch suffered horribly, but did not yield. He produced his magic stone and heated it red-hot, still, so intense was the cold that it had no power to help him.
Alŭmūset’s wings were frozen, and he could not fly on any more errands; but another of the master’s attendant spirits, “Litŭswāgan,” or Thought, went like a flash to “Sūwessen,” the South Wind, and begged his aid.
The warm South Wind began to blow about the mountain, and Cold was driven from the scene.
Next to try his fate was Kosq, the Heron, whose guardian spirit was “Chenoo,” the giant with the heart of ice, who quickly went to work with his big stone hatchet, chopped down trees, tore up rocks, and began to hew a vast hole in the side of the mountain; but the Giant Witch now for the first time let loose his terrible dog “M’dāssmūss,” who barked so loudly and attacked Chenoo so savagely that he was driven thence in alarm.
The next warrior was Mūin, the Bear, whose poohegans were “Petāgŭn,” or Thunder, and “Pessāquessŭk,” or Lightning. Soon a tremendous thunderstorm arose which shook the whole mountain, and a thunder-bolt split the mouth of the cave in twain; the lightning flashed into the cavern and nearly blinded the Giant Witch, who now for the first time knew what it was to fear. He yelled aloud with pain, for he was fearfully burned by the lightning. Thunder and Lightning redoubled their fury, and filled the place with fire, much alarming the foe, who hurriedly bade Humming-bird summon “Haplebembo,” the big bull-frog, to his aid. Bull-frog appeared, and spat out his huge mouth full of water, which nearly filled the cave, quenching the fire, and driving away Thunder and Lightning.
Next to fight was Lox, the Indian Devil. Now Lox was always a coward, and having heard of the misfortunes of his friends, he cut off one of his big toes, and when Striped Squirrel called him to begin the battle, he excused himself, saying that he was lame and could not move.
Next in order came K’tchīplāgan, the Eagle, whose poohegan was “Aplāsŭmbressit,” the Whirlwind. When he entered the enemy’s abode in all his fury and frenzy of noise, the Giant Witch awoke from sleep, and instantly “K’plāmūsūke” lost his breath and was unable to speak; he signed to Humming-bird to go for “Culloo,” the lord of all great birds; but the Whirlwind was so strong that the Humming-bird could not get out of the cave, being beaten back again and again. Therefore the Giant Witch bade Thought summon Culloo. In an instant the great bird was at his side, and made such a strong wind with his wings at the mouth of the cave that the power of the Whirlwind was destroyed.
Hassagwākq’ now began to despair, for but one witch remained to him, and that was Wābe-kèloch, the Wild Goose, who was very quiet, though a clever fellow, never quarrelling with any one, and not regarded as a powerful warrior. But the great chief had a dream in which he saw a monstrous giant standing at the mouth of the enemy’s cave. He was so tall that he reached from the earth to the sky, and he said that all that was needful in order to destroy the foe was to let some young woman entice him out of his lair, when he would at once lose his magic power and might readily be slain.
The chief repeated this dream to Wābe-kèloch, ordering him to obey these wise words. Wild Goose’s poohegan was “Mikŭmwess,” the Indian Puck, a fairy elf, who speedily took the shape of a beautiful girl and went to the mouth of the cave, where he climbed into a tall hemlock-tree, singing this song as he mounted:
“Come hither, young man,
Come list to my song,
Come forth this lovely night,
Come forth, for the moon shines bright,
Come, see the leaves so red,
Come, breathe the air so pure.”
Giant Witch heard the voice, and coming to the mouth of the cave, he was so charmed by the music that he stepped out and saw a most lovely girl sitting among the branches of a tree. She called to him: “W’litt hoddm’n, natchī pen eqūlin w’liketnqu’ hēmus,”—“Please, kind old man, help me down from this tree.” As soon as he approached her, Glūs-kābé, the great king of men, sprang from behind the tree, threw his “timhēgan,” his stone hatchet, at him and split his head open. Then addressing him, Glūs-kābé said: “You have been a wicked witch, and have destroyed many of Chief Hassagwākq’s best warriors. Now speak yet once again and tell where you have laid the bones of your victims.” Giant Witch replied that in the hollow of the mountain rested a vast heap of human bones, all that remained of what were once the mightiest men of Striped Squirrel’s tribe.
He then being dead, Glūs-kābé commanded all the birds of the air and the beasts of the forest to assemble and devour the body of Giant Witch.
This being done, Glūs-kābé ordered the beasts to go into the cave and bring forth the bones of the dead warriors, which they did. He next bade the birds take each a bone in his beak and pile them together at the village of Hassagwākq’.
He then directed that chief to build a high wall of great stones around the heap of bones, to cover them with wood, and make ready “eqūnāk’n,” or a hot bath.
Then Glūs-kābé set the wood on fire and began to sing his magic song; soon he bade the people heap more wood upon the fire, and pour water on the steaming stones. He sang louder and louder, faster and faster, until his voice shook the whole village; and he ordered the people to stop their ears lest the strength of his voice should kill them. Then he redoubled his singing, and the bones began to move with the heat, and to sizzle and smoke and give forth a strange sound. Then Glūs-kābé sang his resurrection song in a low tone; at last the bones began to chant with him; he threw on more water, and the bones came together in their natural order and became living human beings once more.
The people were amazed with astonishment at Glūs-kābé’s might; and the great Chief Hassagwākq’ gathered together all the neighboring tribes and celebrated the marvellous event with the resurrection feast, which lasted many days, and the tribe of Striped Squirrel was never troubled by evil witches forever afterward.
ŪLISKE[2]
I was sitting on the beach one afternoon with old Louisa Flansouay (François) and the other Indians, when she suddenly rose with an air of great determination, saying to me, “Come into camp and I tell you a story!” (No story can ever be told in the open air; if the narrator be not under cover, evil spirits may easily take possession of her.)
I gladly followed old Louisa, who is a noted story-teller, and heard the following brief but thrilling tale.
Many, many years ago a great chief had an only daughter who was so handsome that she was always known by the name of “Ūliske,” which is to say “Beauty.” All the young men of the tribe sought her hand in marriage, but she would have nothing to say to them. Her father vainly implored her to make a choice; but she only answered him, “No husband whom I could take, would ever be any good to me.”
Every year at a certain season, she wandered off by herself and was gone for many days; where she went no one could discover, nor could she be restrained when the appointed time came round.
At last, however, she yielded to persuasion and took a husband. For a time all went well. When the season for her absence was at hand, she told her husband that she must go. He said he would go with her, and as she made no objection, they set out on the following morning and travelled until they came to a lovely, lonely lake. A point of land ran out into the water, well wooded and provided with a pleasant wigwam. Here Ūliske beached the canoe; they went ashore and remained for two days and nights, when the husband disappeared. Ūliske in due time returned to her tribe and reported his loss. Her father and his followers sought long and anxiously, but no trace of him was ever found. Later on, Ūliske took a second husband, a third and a fourth, always quietly yielding to persuasion, and always saying as at first, that no